


Spine Cracked Yearbooks

by alphvjensen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dry Humping, High School, M/M, Underage Kissing, Wincest Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphvjensen/pseuds/alphvjensen
Summary: Years later at high school reunions, people would flip through those yearbooks that hadn’t been opened in years, the spines cracking in protest, and stumble upon the picture of the two boys who were always a little too close and pause for a moment, trying to rack their brain for just who they were and then continue flipping through the pages.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally got something out after like two months of writing nothing. Feels kinda good to get some writing out.

There wasn’t ever a day that he explicitly didn’t want to go to school. Most of the time he was up before Dean with his teeth brushed and sitting on his bed, catching up on his reading. Dean would grumble something when Sam finally woke him up, saying that they both had to get to school but there was never a day when Sam didn’t want to go. However, with all of that being said, there was only one day that came each year that he would much rather play sick than go.

Picture day was usually the bane of anyone’s existence. It seemed that no matter how good you thought you looked, you never ended up looking like that in the yearbook. Not that he ever bought a yearbook. They didn’t have that kind of money to throw around just to remember the few months that they spent in some crappy ass school that was just like every other school. It was just that in countless yearbooks around the U.S. held a picture of the Winchester brothers. It had a picture of Sam with his shaggy hair and too big clothes. It had a picture of Dean’s too bright green eyes and his signature cocky smirk. Years later at high school reunions, people would flip through those yearbooks that hadn’t been opened in years, the spines cracking in protest, and stumble upon the picture of the two boys who were always a little too close and pause for a moment, trying to rack their brain for just who they were and then continue flipping through the pages.

Sam hated picture day. He hated having to shift through his bag and find something that looked relatively nice and dress up just to painfully pose for a couple of seconds in front of a blue background.

He pulled out the oversized green sweater from his bag, sighing as he pulled it over his head, smoothing down the front before turning around to look at his still sleeping form of his brother. He considered for just a moment to let Dean sleep for however long he wanted, making them late for school. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t care about taking Sam too school.

But he knew that no matter how late in the day it was, Dean was going to get him to school. He seemed to care more about his education than he did.

Dean was a little slow getting up. He slid into his seat just before the bell rang, his bag falling to the floor with a loud thump. His teacher shot him a disapproving look before turning back to her desk, getting back to working on whatever she was previously working on.

He kept his head bent, dutifully taking notes on how to do factorials, never mind the fact that he learned how to do it at the last school and the last school… and the last school. There was going to be a test next class and then the end of the quarter was right around the corner and for the first time in a long time, he was actually going to stay at a school for longer than a quarter.

His father was decided that it was best for them to stay in one place a little longer than a few weeks. It was only a few schools ago that they got a call from DHS, saying that they were concerned about how much Sam and Dean seemed to transfer schools. Surely it wasn’t good for them. Sam’s transcript spoke otherwise. He always was the one with the good grades. Teachers had long ago given up on Dean and trying to get him to excel academically.

“Samuel Winchester.” His head popped up at the sound of his name. His teacher was standing in the doorway, taking a letter from one of the office monitors, a perky little blonde named Stacy he believed. “You’ve got a letter from the front office.”

He set down his pencil and pushed away from his desk, the feet scraping along the tiled floor and walked over to where his teacher was standing. He grabbed the folded note, not opening it until he got back to his seat and sat back down.

Several curious eyes were pinned on him, craning their necks trying to see if they could see what he was getting a letter for and out of spite, Sam placed the letter to the side and all but forgot about it. Besides, he has twenty problems that he had to finish before the end of the period and he would be damned if he didn’t finish them.

Not surprisingly, he was the first person finished and with his head bent, he turned it in. His teacher didn’t even bother to check them over, already knowing that Sam got them all right. He might not have a stable household and was almost late everyday and wore clothes from the thrift shop but he did know what he was doing when it came to school work.

There were a few whispers of disbelief from his fellow classmates as he walked back to his seat. They couldn’t understand how he was always the first one done when it was clear that everything they were learning in math was impossible.

Deciding that he had nothing better to do, he pulled back out the letter that he shoved to the side. The second he opened it, he recognized his brother’s messy scribble and he closed the letter quickly, making sure that no one was reading over his shoulder.

Dean always seemed to get letters to him when no one else should be able to. There was a strict policy that students weren’t allowed to send notes to other students through the office staff but there was no doubt that Dean sent that perky blonde Stacy one of his award winning smiles and she was bending over backwards, trying to figure out a way to get this letter to Dean’s little brother.

If only she knew what Dean had actually written.

Sam could feel his face burning bright red as he opened the letter again, reading what Dean had sent him.

_Met me in the 1st floor bathroom. -D_

He cleared his throat, trying to chase away the blush that was setting his face on fire and for the third time that day, pushed away from his desk making his way to his teacher.

“I’ve… uhh… I’ve got to go to the front office.” Sam lied, holding up the letter and his teacher barely looked up from the book she was reading as she waved her hand to dismiss Sam.

This was probably the fourth time that Sam had been ‘called to the office’.

Sam shoved the note deep into his back pocket before making his way down to the first floor bathroom. It seemed that within the first week of school, Dean managed to figure out what closets and what bathrooms weren’t used often and it just so happened that at his school, it was the first floor mens bathroom that no one ever wanted to use.

Dean was leaning up against the sink, arms crossed against his chest looking as beautiful as ever. His lips pulled into a smile when the door closed behind Sam, signaling that he was there.

“Shit kid, just gonna make me wait down here all day?” He asked as he pushed off the counter and over to where Sam was standing.

“My teacher, she’s gonna get suspicious why I’m going to the office all the time.” Sam replied back, trying to sound defiant. Dean might be able to sweet talk the school but Sam didn’t want to explain to his teacher where he was actually going.

“Don’t worry ‘bout her. We’re gonna leave in a few weeks anyway. It won’t matter.” And that’s the way that Dean viewed schooled summed up in three words. _It won’t matter._ If only Sam could make himself live by those same words. Maybe all of this would be easier. The moving around. The going to a different school. The always being the new kid that everyone knew but knew nothing about. “You seemed upset this morning, Sam. This teacher isn’t giving you any trouble, is she?”

Sam scoffed. Like Dean would actually do something to her but he shook his head. “No. She’s fine it’s just… today’s picture day.”

Dean smirked. “And there’s a problem with that?”

“Well no other than the fact that my face is going to be in a yearbook forever now and look at me…” He held his arms out, the fabric hanging off his body. “I don’t wanna be in the yearbook.”

Dean placed a finger underneath Sam’s chin, pulling his gaze up towards his. “Sure ya do, Sammy.” He ran a hand through Sam’s hair, pushing his bangs off his face.

Sam opened his mouth to protest when Dean bent down and shut him up by kissing him. Sam relaxed underneath Dean’s hold, the tension that was in his body seemed to melt away. Frankly what did it matter if he was going to be in the yearbook if Dean was kissing him like this.

Of course, Dean the beautiful asshole, would look perfect as always in his picture while Sam just looked out of place but it suddenly didn’t matter anymore.

Dean ran his hands down Sam’s sides, holding his hips and turned Sam around.

“We shouldn’t do this.” Sam muttered in between kisses as Dean backed him up against the sink. His hands came down on either side of his body, blocking him in between flesh and porcelain.

“Yeah, but that makes it all the more fun.” Dean replied, kissing down Sam’s jaw, his mouth hot and wet and Sam moaned underneath him, thrusting against his hips. Dean chuckled against Sam’s neck. “Not so loud, baby brother. I didn’t lock the door. Anyone could walk in.”

And it was times like this that Sam really hated his brother because he would say shit like that and he would completely loose it. He whined, clawing at Dean’s shoulders, rutting against Dean’s thigh, the friction being so much and yet so very little.

“You would like that, though, wouldn’t you, Sammy?” Dean whispered licking along Sam’s neck. He hooked a finger into the collar of his sweater, pulling it down to expose his beautiful collarbones. “You want to whole school to know that you’re a little slut for your brother’s cock, don’t cha.”

In response Sam rutted up against Dean’s thigh again.

One of Dean’s hand found its way up underneath the old sweater, his hands calloused from hunting sliding up his taunt stomach towards his perk nipple. Sam’s hands tugged at the tails of Dean’s shirts, dragging it up over the wide expanse of his back, his blunt nails scratching at the tanned skin. His nails left red trails in their wake leaving proof that Sam had been there.

Dean moaned, his other hand fisting in Sam’s hair, pulling his head back and exposed Sam’s neck to him. Sam gasped, his throat working underneath Dean’s lips when Dean attached his mouth around the spot just beside the hollow of his neck.

Sam was rutting up against Dean, unable to stop himself and Dean was holding Sam, getting off on Sam just as much as Sam was getting off on him. Dean continued to suck spots along Sam’s neck pulling the prettiest sounds out of Sam.

Sam could never last long, not when Dean was whispering dirty little words into his ear, telling him all the things that he would do to him when they got back to the motel that evening. Sam’s nails dug into Dean’s back as he came in his jeans, his hips stilling against Dean’s leg.

Dean grunted out Sam’s name when he came just a few moments later.

They stood there, their breathes stilling and it was Dean that broke the silence with his laugh. He reached out and traced the spots along Sam’s neck that he had created. “Everyone’s gonna know that you’re mine, kid.”

Sam turned around and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and sure enough, all along his neck there were already bruises forming and his stomach did an interesting flip at the thought of everyone wondering just who had marked him up.

“Come on. I got another change of clothes in my locker.” Dean said, setting away from Sam and walking from the bathroom.

The only yearbook that Dean had bothered buying was that one from that small town high school with the 2x1 inches square of Sam and if you looked hard enough and knew where to look, you could make out the shape of Dean’s lips playing peek-a-boo right above the collar of that green sweater.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts, comments, and opinions are always welcomed.


End file.
